Lapis Ninety-five

Oh, you fool, there are rules, I am coming for you
Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins

For a while Lazuli remained where she was, perched on the narrow ledge as she watched the flood waters rushing by below her. She breathed deeply, trying to ignore her hammering heart, as she thought about her next move. In time, the flood waters might begin to ebb, but for now they appeared to show no sign of stopping.

Obviously, Lazuli didn’t want to risk re-entering the waters. She’d have to find her way out by picking her way along narrow ledges along the canyon wall. So after a while she began to move, choosing where she placed her feet carefully, grasping onto protruding stones with sharp foreclaws. Step by step, she followed the current and continued towards the dead marsh.


lazuli is moving forward.

---

"Speech."
"Thoughts."

The rain gradually faded into nothing. The fog faded, quickly burned away by the sun, in a matter of minutes. Within the hour, the cave would be back to blisteringly hot. The floodwaters carried the Gembound forward, roaring and inescapable, but as the canyons widened and opened into the mouth of the Marsh, the rapids spread gradually into a low, slow tidal flow. By the time the ravine walls parted to showcase the flat, murky area ahead--studded by black, dead, stunted trees--the water flow was little more than a few inches filling the marsh a little deeper.

The Dead Marsh itself was a vast place, fogged with a sickly haze of green-yellow grey that hung low and ominous. Very little life showed itself, here; the occasional quillmouse scurried among the muck, and a vulture or three dotted the dead branches, perched, watching and waiting. But mostly it was deadlands that stretched on in all directions, as far as the eye could pierce the mist. It would challenge the Gembounds' sense of direction. Low mud banks dotted the tracts of stagnant water--sometimes acidic, or even toxic--and in many places the haze, too, foul-smelling everywhere, was even poisonous, causing those who breathed it to break into horrific coughing, hallucinations often plaguing them and driving them deeper into the marsh, never to be seen again. Death usually followed soon after. If this were not bad enough, there were pits beneath the shallow water that proved far deeper: thin quicksand, or watery mud, capable of dragging a struggling Gembound down to their death in mere minutes.

High above, the Masked Merchant watched. They were distant, now, but by his count, all had somehow survived the floods. Good, he thought. The real challenge lay ahead. Here, Gembound were usually worn out. Hours of trekking through the desert, battling enemies, and hauling themselves down through the canyons in the dead heat usually left them weary, their bodies trembling with exhaustion, their minds sluggish from their efforts. The long slog through the marshes weeded out those who'd lost some strength in their journey, or whose reactions had grown slow. Reflexes and observational ability often suffered. Endurance, stamina, fortitude--those would now be tested.

Those who failed would be culled swiftly by the marsh. They always were.

_________________

Round Five

Gembound attempting to survive the Dead Marsh must roll to make their way safely through. Those who fail may inhale the toxic gas, which can induce any of a number of severe neurological symptoms, generally including hallucinations and either hysteria or deep confusion. Others might be dragged down by the mud, or quicksand, with drowning threatening to take them. Pausing to drink the water, too, would be a mistake, quickly inducing the same symptoms as the toxic gas might.

If Successful in your roll, clarify if your character is moving ahead or attempting to locate and stay with their current group. Rolling a critical fail will inflict a severe injury and cause the character to fall farther behind. Please remember any potential exhaustion, or current injuries, that your character is suffering when making your post.

Please post & roll only once.

Click to view current placement rankings.

1. Garnet Five-Seven-Nine
2. {empty space}
3. {empty space}
4. Lapis Ninety-Five
5. Labradorite Five-Four-Six,Desert Rose Thirty-Five, Yoosung
6. {empty space}
7. Imp, Reseda
8. Shango, Amazon, Quartz Eight-Six-Zero, Asimona, Quartz Five-Two-Four, Styx, Opal Three-Seven-Six
9. {empty space}
10. Agate Two-Three-Six, Mayngo

@Yoosung @Amazon @Shango @Opal Three-Seven-Six @Quartz Eight-Six-Zero @Labradorite Five-Four-Six @Agate Two-Three-Six @Desert Rose Thirty-Five @Lapis Ninety-Five @Garnet Five-Seven-Nine @Quartz Five-Two-Four

The mad, swift surf through rapids and fog had gradually--almost without Imp's notice--changed to a slow float into a vast swamp. The mist was changing to an eerie haze, and damn, those trees don't look good. In fact, they looked downright ominous.

Imp was tired, too. His legs ached and shook from the effort of clinging to his log throughout the flood, though his mind was still keen enough. He looked around, and found that everyone had either drifted farther behind, or come out quite a distance ahead. Close by him, though--or at least closer than the rest--was a big lizard that wasn't too unlike himself. He couldn't remember if he'd met her, before, and at the moment, he wasn't sure if it mattered.

She was limping.

"Heya. I'm Imp, dunno if we met, you okay?" He hopped down from his log, into the mud, wings spread for balance. His words, too, were a little muffled by the taloned claw still tucked (rather unpleasantly) between teeth and cheek-web on one side of his face.

He landed with a squelch, and the mud gave way beneath his feet. Shit. Have to be careful of that, he thought to himself, adjusting with a beat of his wings to a slightly more solid mudbank. "Watch your step," he advised Reseda at once. "Looks pretty sink-y." And then, after a brief glance around to get his bearings--"I think it's this way." He couldn't be sure, of course--but the swamp was behind them, and he thought the dunes off to their right somewhere far out of sight, so surely "ahead" was the correct direction?

Off he went, slowly but surely, carefully picking his way. Despite slips and sinks here and there, he managed to struggle on without, at least, dying.

Imp will stay behind to help Reseda.

The water carried on, carrying them through the ravine, and the dog leaned his body to keep the log from overturning. His head whirled, but it wasn't too hard, and finally he found himself coming to a standstill, the log lodging in the mud.

Shaking himself, and stumbling, he leaped down from the log. His paws sunk into the mud, and he grimaced, lifting them up one at a time.

This was... not good.

It reminded him almost of Cetus, a fogged marsh with dead trees. He shook himself, staggering as his head whirled, and licking his lips.

'Time to get started,' he thought, and began to walk. The ground sucked at his paws, and he had to step high, pulling his paws hard with each step as the ground tried to swallow him up. He reeled, unable to keep himself walking a straight line, the world whirling around him. His head was throbbing, and he licked at his lips again.

As he went, he would pause occasionally, looking back over his shoulder to see if anyone nearby needed help.

Speech. Thought.

Styx is: staying behind to help

The dog moaned as his log came to a very sudden stop, throwing him from his perch and to the mud. He only had a moment to spit out his wing tip and turn his head before giving into his churning stomach, heaving and emptying his stomach onto the ground.

He laid there for a long moment, panting and whimpering, before slowly staggering to his paws, licking his lips and wincing at the acrid taste, grabbing up the wing tip.

He looked around, taking in their surroundings, having a sudden flashback to fighting the monster in Cetus. Without thinking, he bolted, beginning to haul ass across the marshes, focusing only on the Will o' the Wisps darting around in front of him, leading him safely through the marsh.

I've been on a lonely tripdragging along a lonely shadow

Yoosing is: moving ahead at full speed (run Forrest run!)

Shango drifted gently to the ground, his body tensed and his eyes wide.

Okay, that had been a ride. His magic had barely kept him afloat, at times, his body careening off the canyon walls (luckily, lightly) and dipping repeatedly into the rapids, instants away from being dragged down into the debris and the rushing mud. Somehow, he'd survived--and now he stood, turning to look back behind him toward the canyon.

Around him were others, now--a dog, already walking into the marsh; a white dragon, a lizard-like horse, an actual lizard, a big wet white hairy yeti-sort-of-thing, and an eel creature. They were all spread out, a little--scattered by the floodwaters--but close enough to hear and see one another; close enough, perhaps, to aid. But the hybrid didn't really think too much about the implications. More, he was concerned with their survival, in a half-aware, collective sense.

Quiet, Shango turned to regard the Dead Marsh ahead.

He was tired, himself--not exhausted, by any means, but certainly worn. His wings ached terribly; they were meant for gliding, and he'd never had to use them so intensively, or for so long. The muscles were sore, and he knew he couldn't just lift more warm air and surf it out ahead.

The air stank, though, and he got a whiff that left an acrid, metallic unpleasantness in his nose. He knew instinctively that this was poison, though he didn't assume it to be fatal. Instead, he murmured "bad air," and worked for a moment on drawing in what remained of the "storm" from behind them.

The warm air swept away from them, out ahead, and the fresher, cooler air from the canyons rushed to fill it. In this way, a current of clean wind guided the way across the marsh, though Shango could not of course protect anyone from what lay beneath the murky waters.

"BAD AIR," he repeated, this time calling it out loudly to everyone close by. And then--setting his light feet on the thicker mud--he began to walk contentedly through his gusting air-flow.

Shango will be remaining behind with his group.

The chicken bounced his name back, and the fossa nodded, making sure to exaggerate the movement so that his skull-mask would move along with him. It offered its name, and he called back "Gatto, hello!" to make sure he got it right, nodding again, "Seems like it!"

He looked around, taking in the other 'champions' and 'contestants', far, far ahead of them. Well, so long as they all survived, it didn't matter what place they were in he supposed.

The log suddenly came to a stop, and Mayngo found himself unbalanced, unable to stop himself with only three legs. He was launched forward, landing face first in quicksand. His eyes widened in terror, and he pulled back, desperately attempting to free himself, but his mask was thoroughly stuck, and didn't seem to want to come free of his head, either.

@Agate Two-Three-Six

The torrent steadily grew quieter, the ravine widening into the Dead Marsh --- its wretched odor overpowered even the musk of the flood, causing Garnet Five-Seven-Nine to scrunch its face up in disgust. The Champion could never seem to remember just how offensive the stench was. Feeling the rushing current slow as the ground grew ever-closer, it chanced sticking its head up and out of the water, sucking in another breath (around a massive vulture feather.) Blinking away eye-crud, the creature kicked, paddling along in the water and steering itself toward a particular direction.

This was the deadliest of the stretches, and the Garnet needed to pace itself, now. The others --- Champions or not --- were fairly far behind it, and would have to expend a surplus of energy to catch up. Being tactical and patient is what would keep it safe. Each hop was measured and careful, each breath taken carefully where the density of toxic gas was the lowest.

There was no need to rush.

Garnet Five-Seven-Nine is advancing.

Vargas turned away from the summit's edge, following the Masked Merchant. The latter was taking his time, now, pacing down along the slick-wet stone.

"They're all survived," Vargas observed, his rattling voice holding distant surprise. He hadn't expected that, and it was rather impressive. "Not bad for random creations--or are they random?" he asked Astraea, glancing at the now-stag sidelong. "Or are there just so many, now, that it's a matter of percentage? Heavy testing?" he went on. Was this group simply the high-end result of the culling of thousands of worthless..?

There was little time to ponder further; the Merchant was winding his way down the switchbacks, now, undoubtedly so he could catch the tail-end of the test subjects as they moved further into the marsh.

Vargas didn't want to miss this part. He'd always been cautious of the gases and the mud, but this was where he usually began to get personally involved. And if they made it so far as the Flats, the stragglers would find him right behind them.

The marsh. The Agate-- no, Gatto-- remembered the marsh. They opened their beak to warn their companion of the dangerous quicksand, but just as they reached it their log slammed to a halt and sent the pair of gembound stumbling forward. Agate spread their wings, hastily attempting to take flight rather than fall into what was one of the dangerous parts of the trek-- a hazard that was exponential compared to the previous legs of the race.

All it took was one slip up to mean a certain, slow death. Their reaction was fast enough because they had expected it, wings flapping hastily to bring them into the sky... But their companion was not so lucky. If the cockatrice had remembered the way to heal wounds, they were certain they could have done something, but for a split second they caught themself thinking that it was too late.

Mayngo struggled, skull caught in the quicksand. Exhaustion was already weighing heavily on Gatto, their wings finding the effort more and more daunting just to keep in the air. They still had to cross the whole marsh, and their lungs still irritated from the earlier smoke would have difficulty holding their breath through the toxic, hallucinogenic gasses that the swamp expelled.

It would be difficult for any gem to pass through this test.

Let alone taking an injured companion under one's wing. Yet they did not fly away. They had made their choice, as reckless and stupid as it might have been-- perhaps it would be better to try to catch up to Ru and Asimona... They knew very little about this new gembound, after all.

They landed upon their upturned log, sinking their talons in deep. Maybe they just wanted to rub it in 35's face. There was a point to be made here: it did not matter what the Trial threw at them, it did not matter what handicaps they placed upon themself. They would succeed. Nothing could stop them.


agate is staying with @mayngo !